Monthly Archives: April 2004

No, dammit, no… ah fuck, OK, yes

Wednesday night. I’m at home, sitting at the computer. Reading, studying, stressing about how much shit I’ve got to do. No dammit, I’m not going out.

Cell phone rings. I look down, it is Kellie. No, dammit, no. I’m not going out, I’ve got too much to do. Phone continues to ring, then goes to voicemail. One new voicemail. Don’t do it Tom. I go back to reading.

“If we examine the polarity of the schism betweeen Catholicism and the traditional gods…”

Phone rings again. Dammit, I can’t go out tonight. No, not tonight. I look down, it’s Janden. Goes to voicemail. 2 new messages. Don’t do it Tom.

“The Byzantine empire emerged as a result of the remnants of the old Roman empire…” Phone rings again. Fuck. Fucking shit. I can’t go out tonight, no. Goes to voicemail. Ah hell, let’s just see what they’re doing. I’m not going out, no. I’m just gonna see what is going on tonight.

“Dude! It’s Janden! Let’s go to Joe’s! Are you down? Gimme a call, Kellie is going.”

You fuckers. You fucking fuckers. You cats are going out on a school night, and here I am trying to be good. Dammit. Damn you all to hell.

My Id goes nuts. “Drink. DRINK! Do it! Come on, you’re only young once! It’s not like you’re going to fail your classes! DO IT!”

My Superego replies. “Thomas! Stay home and study! Get good grades! Be a good student! No going out on a school night, you know this!”

And back and forth. And back. And forth.

The Id wins. I dial Janden’s number.

“What’s up dude?”

“What the fuck is up?”

“You wanna go?”

“Are you going?”

“Let’s fucking go.”

“I’m going.”

“Joe’s. 10 minutes.”

“I’m there.”

Fucking shit. I’m supposed to be reading and studying and writing and all that responsible student bullshit. Come on, I’m an adult. I’m supposed to be a good boy. Right?

I run, not walk down to Joe’s. I’m so excited about meeting my friends for a night of boozing I can hardly contain myself. I get to Joe’s. No line. I skate in.

I look around. Barely anyone here. Oh what’s up? I see the cute girl from Roman history. Oh hey, ‘sup? I see the girl from History of Mexico. My eyes survey the scene. Light crowd, but fun. Peeps I know. Hey, there is Janden!

He’s hammered. Damn, I love this guy.

“Tom! What’s up dude? Rum?”

We shoot Captain Morgan’s (‘cuz that’s what pirates drink). We shoot again. We shoot rum again. 3 pints of Sierra, and we head out to the patio.

Janden are in prime form. He’s pretending he’s a pirate, covering his left eye with his left hand. I’m laughing my ass off and making random conversation with the peeps outside.

This goes on for quite awhile. The waitress comes around and asks us if we want anything to drink. Does the Pope shit in the woods? Does a bear wear a funny hat?

Minutes later we’ve got shots of rum and another round of beer. Janden proposes a new shot.

“Drink it, gargle it, spit it back in the glass. Shoot it, and yell, “ARRR!!!”

I gargle the rum and it splashes in my eye. My eye is burning. I soldier through it anyway. I am so hammered I’m starting to slur. Fantastic then.

I can feel it. I’m starting to spin. Keep it together, Tom. Hold on, Tom. I stare at the floor for a bit.

“Janden, ready for another shot?”

“Fuck yeah!”

We head to the bar and order 3 more shots of rum. The bartender gives us the look that says, “No fucking way.” Awww, come on dude. I slip him a $20 and we’ve got another round (on the house).

I love this town.

10 minutes later (I think) we’re on the patio at our favorite table. Janden has his head in his hands. I poke him. Nothing. I shove him. He falls over. No response. He’s done.
Time to go.

I’m hammered. I’m seeing double. Triple, even. Time to go. I leave.

I get a greasy slice of pizza at the gas station. I come home, and sit down to write. I make a bazillion corrections to my horrible grammar and prose.

I think I’m going to be sick. Nah, I can make it. I finish my 7up.

And now… I sleep.

Now what?

Where is your head tonight, Tom Bissell?

My brain hurts from all the thinking I’ve done. I go round and round, not solving anything. I sigh deeply and turn off all the lights. I slump into my captain’s chair in the dark, tilt the seat back, and interlace my fingers behind my aching head. The glow from all the electronic equipment in the room gives me light enough to see by. I fidget in my chair, then get up to open the doors and windows. I sit back down in silence.

The lawn sprinklers from across the street come on, and make their rat-tat-tat sound as they sweep back and forth. Looking over the top of my desk and out the window I can see the clear night sky filled with stars. Each one looks like a tiny pin-prick in a sheet of blackness. I wonder just how long it took the light from that star, or that one, to reach Earth. How many millions of years has it traveled across time and space to be here with me now? I wonder if it’s even still there? Or did it burn out eons ago? Time marches ever onward, with or without you Tom Bissell.

I feel small sitting in my studio apartment tonight. I stare at the clock and watch the neon digital numbers change from minute to minute. 2:04. 2:05. 2:06. The display is burned in my vision, like the sun when you squint to the horizon trying to make out a tiny sail, or object, or whatever. I close my eyes and I can still see the clock display. Time is marching ever onward Tom Bissell, with or without you.

What are you going to do? It’s coming down to the wire. 10 years of education are finally coming to its logical conclusion. I’m graduating in less than four weeks. No more student loans. No more papers and reading and studying. No more all-nighters. No more, “Where do you work?” “I don’t, I’m a full time student.” The next chapter in the book of Tom Bissell is about to start. Wouldn’t it be nice if I knew how it would begin?

My stomach grumbles, so I get up and head to the kitchen. I decide it’s too late to eat, so I pour myself a glass of nonfat milk into my favorite Sierra Nevada pint glass. I walk outside, onto my balcony, wearing only my boxer shorts, a white tshirt, and holding my glass of milk. The air is crisp and clean and I inhale deeply. I imagine I have holes in the bottom of my feet, and as I exhale I can feel the air descending through my legs and out the soles of my peds. My soul feels uplifted, and I turn my gaze upward once again to the stars.

Are these the same stars my ancestors gazed up at? The ancient Greeks? Romans? In another time, perhaps thousands of years ago, did a young man ponder his existence in the same way I do now? Did he feel the same emotions I do at this moment—fear, doubt, loss? Fear of the unknown—what’s going to happen to me? Doubt of my abilities—will I make a decent living? Loss of self—I am no longer a college student, so who am I? I’m getting dizzy again, so I head back inside.

I slump back down in my chair in the same manner as before. Nothing resolved and nothing solved, the same problems and questions remain. I wish I had someone to talk to at this hour of the night. Instead I simply have this website.

And so I sit down to write.

To Joe's!

Last night around 10pm I left the house. I just wanted to go downtown to the ATM, grab a coffee and a cigar, and walk home. I wasn’t really feeling anything in the air—it didn’t seem like a crazy night—so I wasn’t in the mood to party.

Just to make sure, I walked past all the bars and took a peek inside. Yep, just as I thought, they were pretty empty. I started to feel pretty good about my decision to make it a mellow night, and I whistled a little tune as I walked home.

I finished my cigar just as I was walking up the steps to my apartment. The robusto size is perfectly timed for a walk home, nothing wasted. I fished my keys out of my pocket and swung the door open.

Hmmm… I think I’ll leave the door open. It’s a beautiful night and I’d like to get some air in this place. I put on my oh-so-comfortable lounging clothes (Old Navy shorts and an oversized t-shirt) and sat down at my computer to write.

I leisurely finished my coffee and wrote for fun (see last night’s posting). I could hear the sounds of drunk people already at 11:30pm. My neighbors were blasting Guns ‘n Roses again, and the girls were screaming “whoooooooooooa sweet child o’ miiiiiiiiiine” at the top of their lungs. I briefly considered going over to say hello when my cell phone rang.

It’s Kellie. She’s on her way down to Joe’s with Janden, Steve, and Hillary. OK, this sounds pretty good. Janden and Hillary are always entertaining. They love to drink more than I do. OK, sure I’ll meet you down there.

By this time it’s almost midnight. I know I’ve got to get down to Joe’s with the quickness or I’ll have to wait in line. I throw on the clothes I was wearing earlier, put some goop in my hair, and scoot down to Joe’s.

I get there just in time. I beat the line and get inside without a wait. My favorite bartendress is working, and I get a Heineken over the crowd. She wears a shit-eating grin as she scoops her $5 tip off the counter, and everyone wonders why the tall guy 3 rows back got a drink before they did. I head outside.

Everyone but Janden is here. I talk for awhile to Steve about the usual stuff—guns and politics. I really want to talk to Hillary, but she’s sandwiched between Kellie and some other girls. I suggest we all move to the table in the corner, and strategically place myself between Kellie and Hillary.

Hillary is a damn cool chick. She was once so drunk she had to be put on a pedicab (half mountain bike, half carriage) home. She cussed out the driver the whole way, a stream of expletives fading off into the distance. She likes to surround herself with trustworthy friends so she can get pissy, blackout drunk. She’s a riot.

Janden arrives on the scene, in style. He’s so hammered it’s unbelievable. He hits on every girl as he makes his way back to our table, and strikes out every time. When he gets close he takes a running start and JUMPS up on our table. He lifts up his shirt and massages his nipple, and shakes his hips in a lame Shakira impression. The whole patio erupts into cheering and laughter, which only eggs him on. He knocks over a few drinks and then sits down.

By this time we’re all suitably drunk. As usual Steve clams up. When he drinks too much he doesn’t speak. He just sits there, pretty quiet, and sways until it’s time to fall over and sleep. I am not like that when I’m drunk. I gesticulate wildly with my hands and slur my words. You can’t shut me up. Janden and I decide it’s time to kick it up a notch.

The 3 of us head to the bar and order a round of shots. Can you guess what we had? Can you? I slam my empty shot glass down on the bar top and yell in my best piratey voice, “ARRR!” Janden has that look in his eyes like he wants to double up. Fine with me, let’s do it. We do another round of Captain Morgan’s and then another. It won’t be long now.

It’s 1:30am and the bar is closing, so we all stumble outside.

Who said pizza? Damn that’s a great idea. We walk down to Franky’s walk-up window and each get a slice of the most delicious pizza on the planet. Who said more booze? That is a fantastic idea. The girls take a pedicab back to Kellie’s apartment, and the three boys are left to walk.

Steve disappears into the bushes to relieve himself. Janden is swaying, bumping into me every 3 seconds. Hey where is Steve? We wait. And wait. And wait.

“Pedicab!” We climb aboard and start to abuse the driver. Janden is dragging his shoes on the ground to make the poor guy pedal harder. I’m trying to get him to behave. I think I hear a girl shout my name, so I turn around and look behind me. As I do this I promptly fall out of the pedicab. Janden is dancing around me, pointing and laughing his ass off. I’m so drunk I don’t feel a thing.

A few minutes later we’re back at Kellie’s house. Kellie is pissed we left her boyfriend, Steve, behind yet again. She goes to look for him, and we raid the booze. Where is Hillary? Hillary passed out on the pedicab ride home, so Kellie took her home and put her to bed.

Janden and I put on some music and go out on the balcony. Kellie and Steve get back a few moments later. Kellie puts Steve’s drunk ass to bed and joins us on the balcony.

The 3 of us stay up for a few more hours chatting, smoking, and drinking. My buzz is starting to wear off. I think I see the sky starting to get a little light. I look down at my watch. Oh shit, it’s 5am. I say my goodbyes and start the long walk home.

The air is still. It is sooo quiet. Nobody is driving anywhere at this time of day, so I walk down the middle of the street with impunity. I look up and see a clear night sky full of stars. Every time I do this I think about how nice and clear and relatively pollution-free it is up here. In SoCal you can’t see shit for stars. Up here there are so many it’s amazing.

I love this time of night/morning. It almost feels like you’re breaking the rules, like you’re doing something bad. You’re not supposed to stay up all night partying, and walk home as the sun is coming up. ESPECIALLY when you’re 32 years old. I feel very alert and awake, but most importantly I feel fucking alive.

I grin the whole way home.